A wag once told her that Dante was born at Algiers: and asked her,--which Dr.Johnson wrote first, 'Irene,' or 'Every Man in his Humour.' But she had the best of the joke, for she had never heard of Irene or Every Man in his Humour, or Dante, or perhaps Algiers.

It was all one to her.

She acted what little Bows told her--where he told her to sob, she sobbed--where he told her to laugh, she laughed.

She gave the tirade or the repartee without the slightest notion of its meaning.

She went to church and goes every Sunday, with a reputation perfectly intact, and was (and is) as guiltless of sense as of any other crime.
But what did our Pen know of these things?
He saw a pair of bright eyes, and he believed in them--a beautiful image, and he fell down and worshipped it.